


Patience

by thisisashittyusername



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pining, ok literally incest thoughts, wanting, weird but eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisashittyusername/pseuds/thisisashittyusername
Summary: ok so seriously i know this is a problematic ship. incest is already so controversial, even moreso when the dad's a fucking murderer like in this case ahah,,, i guess i just really have my own family problems relating to this, and exploring the whitly/bright relationship is kind of like self-therapy for me or something. (or maybe i just like fucked up things. i don't know.) again, this is a problematic ship, and if it doesn't appeal to you, remember that no one's forcing you to consume this media. much love, everyone





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> ok so seriously i know this is a problematic ship. incest is already so controversial, even moreso when the dad's a fucking murderer like in this case ahah,,, i guess i just really have my own family problems relating to this, and exploring the whitly/bright relationship is kind of like self-therapy for me or something. (or maybe i just like fucked up things. i don't know.) again, this is a problematic ship, and if it doesn't appeal to you, remember that no one's forcing you to consume this media. much love, everyone

It takes everything in Martin’s power to keep himself from running up and grabbing him, the day he finally, _finally_ comes.

Ten long years of waiting, finally condensing- culminating- to this glorious moment of their eyes meeting, of them finally breathing each other’s air. Breathing each other’s _space._ He can feel his hands shaking at his sides, the need to feel and stroke and _touch_ coming out in deranged, intermittent spurts, and Malcolm must see how dangerously excited he makes his father feel, because the smaller man almost folds into himself.

He doesn’t. Malcolm stands his ground, opting instead to swallow- a more covert behavior Martin can appreciate, if only to watch his Adam’s apple bob.

The almost taboo intensity of his enthusiasm is not lost on himself, Martin thinks, and he realizes that it doesn’t shock him at all. The want to keep in contact with Malcolm, to see him every day despite being behind bars- the simple yet absolute _longing_ to keep his son has made way to this… bestiality. Again, it’s not surprising. There were countless psychological concepts wholly sufficient to explain why absence would make the heart grow fonder and wilder and so much more _wanting, so much more desperate_, but Martin can’t be bothered to think of one, not when the object of his fondness, his want, and _his desperation_ was here, in his room, already so close, _after so many years of waiting_.

“Malcolm,” he says, and it sounds just as breathless as he feels. “_My boy._”

His son says something- ever the sharp tongue, the good lad- and Martin could almost keel over with how wonderful he feels. His son’s biting and sarcastic remark barely fazes him; in fact, it almost feels like the tease of a jigsaw puzzle flaunting its fit into the grooves and the markings of his mind, somewhere deep in his body, _in his flesh_.

And what would he give, to finally turn his beloved, prodigal son into him, by sacrificing his own form? Martin realizes, with a heady sigh, how he would give _anything_ for Malcolm to dig into him, with his instruments or his bare hands (_please let it be his bare hands, his bare fingers inside me)_, _deep enough _to know him more intimately than anyone ever will; see the parts of him not even the light of a god’s green earth has ever seen. A private viewing, just for his son, _only _for his beloved boy, the prodigal son who comes back home to father. He thinks of Malcolm’s fingers, bigger than they were when he was just a child, now thickened by age, and imagines them dripping with shiny red, almost like a bedazzled hand, and the thought does nothing to stop the sudden upward curl of his lips. Malcolm looks afraid.

(And Martin notes how foolish his beautiful, shining boy could be, despite his underlying genius. Malcolm has no reason to be afraid, especially not of him. If anything, it should be Martin who’s afraid.

Malcolm has him wrapped around his finger.

Malcolm can do so little as walk away and never come back, and Martin would cease to have purpose, cease to have anything to live for.

Martin could kill himself because of something like that, and little, precious Malcolm wouldn’t even know.)

He has no reason to put all his cards down exactly at that moment, though, and it is with that thought that Martin merely smiles and grins at his dearest boy. Time would finally let Malcolm know just how much his father loved him, just how much his father _wanted_ and _coveted _him- and Martin was in no rush, after all. Time was something he had in great abundance.

He merely plays with his food, a lilt to his voice and a certain restraint to his saunter, despite his burning want to push the boy against a wall and ravish him, make him see stars and feel euphoria like he’s never had before, make him come undone only by a masterful twisting of the wrist.

(He knows his son’s predisposition to nightmares; he’s anticipated, with a certain amount of guilt, that he may have been the subject of some horrific nightmares over the years. But this time, he promises, it will be better. Once he’s dug his nails into the deepest parts of Malcolm, he will never let go, and Malcolm will scream for him, will thrash and writhe and beg for reprieve, just as he always has, though vastly for different reasons.

He will plead to be filled, he will plead to be completed, he will plead to never feel empty again, and Martin will be the one to answer his cries, and Martin will feel just as whole, like two puzzle pieces finally, _finally _fitting together, after an eternity away.)

He wants to be the very reason Malcolm feels any pleasure in the world, and for all Malcolm’s never experienced yet, he wants to be the first. He wants to _take_ Malcolm, he wants to _possess _his boy-

He just has to take his time.


End file.
